


Out of Sight, Out of Mind

by Notatree



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Ghost Hanzo, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, McCree and Genji are best bros, Medium or Slow Burn?, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Supernatural Elements, some spoopy stuff happening here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-03-12 17:39:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13552332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notatree/pseuds/Notatree
Summary: His fingers were itching to pull when the elder Shimada held his piercing glare. McCree had more control than that, though. He would never hear the end of it from Genji despite how much his brother deserved a shot to his pretty face. At least, unless the Shimada assassin made the first move.-Jesse McCree realizes you cannot shoot what seems to be a ghost.





	1. Blink and You'll Miss It

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fanfiction in years but I suddenly felt inspiration to write this idea instead of draw it. 
> 
> No fancy beta read because this was written from 2am to 5am. Please tell me if there are errors, English is hard. I also typed this on phone.

When McCree saw a silhouette of a figure loitering the rocky coast of the Gibraltar base from the large window of Winston's office-slash-laboratory he felt a prick of suspicion grow in the back of his neck. So far only a few Overwatch members, and a few inspired newcomers, had answered the recall and each of them was accounted for inside the rec room he just left before Winston sheepishly asked him to fetch some files that the new-and-still-learning commander had forgotten for the recruits. They were all bunched together recalling stories of their journey here, rekindling friendships and the like after years of no contact for some. The thought of an attack at a fragile moment like this...

"Athena?" McCree called out behind him before the AI's ever-calm and ever-present voice echoed around the room. 

"Yes, Agent McCree?"

"Could ya pull up some surveillance from behind the communications building? Zoom in on it would ya?"

McCree strode over to Winston's desk, side-stepping all the paper and peanut butter containers on the floor, before half-kneeling on the tire. Athena pulled up two holographic screens displaying angles of the area McCree had requested, each camera zoomed in and stiffly shifting from side to side. Taking off his hat and putting down the long-forgotten files, McCree squints at the screens in search for the stranger. The screen revealed the warm coloured, rocky terrain, sparse green life, and silent ocean waves that captured flecks and reflections of the sunset. A breathtaking view if not for the sudden wave of apprehension that washed over McCree watching the crashing water and lack of his mystery intruder.

"Athena? Everyone still at the rec room?"

"No, Agent McCree. The remaining members within the rec room are Agents Winston, Tracer, D.Va, Mei, and Reinhardt. Agents Genji, Zenyatta, and Soldier: 76 have retired to their rooms. Dr. Zeigler went to the medical facilities with Ana." 

"But none outside?" 

"No one has left the building."

McCree clicked his tongue and put the hat back over his messy chestnut hair. He walked back over to the window to peer outside and sure enough there was nothing and nobody there. The cowboy started to pace, his boots' jingling as the only sound filling the room other than the low hum of machinery. The unlit cigarillo in his mouth was rolled around as McCree contemplated his paranoia. It felt entirely plausible that his years on the run had left him still jumpy even in company of old friends again. What were the chances of bounty hunters following him here? Well, higher than a civilian having wandered up here using the dangerous cliff sides rather than the abandoned main roads... Though either could be a possibility. Maybe no one was there to begin with and his paranoid, sleep-deprived mind was getting the best of him. 

Before he could begin to reprimand himself, he caught a shadow move once again from the corner of his eye. McCree abruptly rushed out of the room with heavy footsteps to settle whether there was an intruder or not and barely heard Athena calling out to him. 

McCree half-ran half-jogged down the stairs, passing by a curious Winston and Tracer presumably going to the lab themselves, and exited through the lower exit below without much of a word. The warm and humid coastal air hit him immediately when the door slid open and he took a moment to appreciate some fresh air before continuing to trudge along the cliff side, hand reaching for his gun and adjusting the red serape away from his neck. Eventually he went past the desolate looking comm tower and scanned the area. The ocean was much louder out here and the cries of gulls can be heard in the distance. He took another moment to kick away some overgrown shrubbery when something blue flapped around and caught his attention from just below the cliff's edge. McCree tightened his grip on peacekeeper and slowly pulled her out of his holster before peering off the stone edge. 

"Hands up," McCree demanded, voice low and threatening. He pointed his gun at the intruder. "Don't know if ya didn't notice but yer trespassin'." 

"Trespassing in abandoned property?" The stranger retorted in a sarcastic tone. His voice was deep and smooth, just a bit of an edge to his words. He turned slowly, almost tiredly, not putting his hands up to surrender. McCree didn't expect him to anyway. He did a quick once over. The man was East Asian, presumably Japanese, and appears to be quite stocky, but believed to be shorter than McCree even at the awkward angle they were in. His long black hair was pulled up into a short, high ponytail kept together by a silky blue ribbon that reflects some gold from the setting sun. He seemed to be wearing something traditional, the proper name escaping McCree when he did a very, very brief double take at the half-exposed chest. The clothe was white but appeared a soft orange that blends into the scenic view around him. He looked older than McCree, just slightly, from the hair greying at the sides and just slightly on his beard. 

"Still trespassin'".

All the stranger replied to him was a scoff and an eye roll before those deep brown eyes settled back on McCree who was dropping down onto the same ledge. The lack of a visible weapon present on the stranger wasn't enough to make McCree put his gun away as he realized who was in front of him; from wanted posters and old photographs shown to him from Genji in their Blackwatch days. 

"Hanzo Shimada".

-

"Winston, you know you could've asked me to get your stuff! Could've gone here and back in a blink of an eye for ya, love."

"Oh, I know..." Winston sighed. "But you and Mei and miss Song seemed to be in a very heated conversation about Mei's expeditions and journals. Even I was a little intrigued so McCree had offered instead.". 

Speak of the devil, McCree shouldered passed the pair without much other than a quick "'Scuse me". He rushed out the back with a swoosh of the metal door sliding closed before ether could get a word in. 

"Did we miss something?" Tracer asked to no one in particular as they entered the lab. 

Athena's logo reappeared over the computer screens as Winston picked up his files. "Agent McCree became suspicious of movement outside the Watchpoint and had left to investigate." She explained, almost with as much exasperation an AI can voice. 

"An intruder?" Winston asked, tone suddenly serious with his recollection to Talon's previous break-in of the Watchpoint. Tracer bounced over to his side, brows furrowed and just as serious. Athena pulled up the same surveillance cameras that McCree was looking at for the two. 

-

Standing face to face with his best friend's killer was a scenario that indeed crossed McCree's mind a couple times back at Blackwatch. The idea resurfaced recently as well when Genji answered the recall with the omnic monk in tow. The now green and serene cyborg told McCree that he did the exact opposite of getting his revenge and slicing his brother to shreds. Sure, someone can be forgiven for some serious crimes. Hell, McCree was a prime example of a second chances. But forgiveness was a little different when it's directed to the same man that, to his knowledge, absolutely massacred you and left you to die. McCree clenched his teeth, biting down on the cigarillo, and focused his grip on the gun. His fingers were itching to pull when the elder Shimada held his piercing glare. McCree had more control than that, though. He would never hear the end of it from Genji despite how much his brother deserved a shot to his pretty face. At least, unless the Shimada assassin made the first move.

Meanwhile, Hanzo seemed minutely shocked at the recognition but schooled his expression soon enough. 

"You-... " Hanzo began and stopped rather lamely. He narrowed his sharp dark brown eyes, glanced off to the side clenching and unclenching his jaw before focusing on McCree again. He opened and closed his mouth, saying nothing, waving his left arm in a vague gesture towards McCree and leaving him to continue the... interrogation? Confrontation? 

"McCree." he supplied his name awkwardly. This felt a little bit different from what he imagined. 

"Jesse McCree" Hanzo stared down at McCree despite the height difference, as if he didn't just fumble for a menacing retort a while ago. His posture straightened up and he crossed his arms, seeming more confident despite the need for aid in remembering the name. "The bounty hunter with a bounty on his own head that would tempt any fool if they didn't consider why the price was high." 

"And yer no fool?" The tension was back as McCree watched for any sudden movements. 

"I am not here to kill you. Not that I wouldn't have been able to."

"Unfortunately I might be here to kill you, Mr. Shimada." McCree chuckled while he gestured towards Hanzo with the gun. Even if he wasn't here to kill McCree right now, he was still too dangerous to allow to wander around the base. "And ya seem to be unarmed. So either you're coming with me 'peacefully' or 'm draggin' yer dead body up instead".

Rather than replying, Hanzo started to pace a bit around the rocky platform they stood in, McCree keeping peacekeeper trained on him all the while. Hanzo settled closer to the edge and gazed back up to the Watchpoint, his expression and voice suddenly deadpan. He was still too carefree for a man with a gun to his face. 

"Is... Genji here?" Back to finish the job then?

"An' why would I tell his murderer where he is or ain't?"

Hanzo's eyes bore into him before he let out a strained sigh. 

"You are his teammate? In this recall?"

McCree kept silent but his eyebrow raised slightly. 

"You would protect him?" 

McCree narrowed his eyes at the sudden change of tone.

"Yeah, I would. I'd probably have m'life on the line protecting the bastard. Hell, it's already happened a couple times." The words came out with a rather sardonic smile. "Frankly somethin' you just couldn't do."

The shorter man tensed up at those words before returning cold eye contact with McCree. Hanzo slowly took in the words with a glower, his hands clenching at his sides. McCree believed that that had finally caused the Shimada to retaliate, armed weapon to his face be damned. Then, suddenly, Hanzo lunged at him. 

-

"Oi, what's McCree doing way over there?" Tracer worried and pointed out the blurred red figure on the holographic screen. "Athena, zoom in, zoom in!"

"Athena, can you get a better angle?"

"A moment, please." Athena launched a surveillance drone for Winston and sent it to fly over to view a new angle against the wall face of the cliff side where McCree stood. It zoomed in closer to his face, no audio, but it was clear he was speaking. 

"Who is he talkin' to?" Tracer was leaning her entire weight on the desk as if looking closer and moving around the screen herself would help her see more to it. 

Athena's drone zoomed out once again and focused on the entire scene. "I had tried to inform McCree before he left that my sensors found no other heat signal outside other than the occasional animal."

And true enough the drone's camera revealed McCree, startling back, dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, gun still held in front of him, pointing at absolutely nothing. He was alone. 

-

"Wh- What the hell?!" McCree's voice wavered a bit more than he had hoped but he couldn't focus on keeping up the threatening front. The arm holding peacekeeper trembled slightly when McCree slowly took in the scene before him. The elder Shimada was just was swift as his younger brother as he moved to strike McCree with his right arm in the blink of an eye. Mccree had the split second to wonder if the assassin had taken out a hidden blade and if let his cockiness almost get him killed once again when he realized there was no blinding pain. There was no searing heat of blood rushing from slashed guts. It felt like nothing. If anything it was cold. He shivered for more reasons than one after looking down at his chest and processing that Hanzo Shimada's arm was passing right through his chest.

"I am unsure if you'd be either pleased or disappointed to learn this but," Hanzo's voice was low, whispery, seeming to echo through McCree's skull. "I am already dead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omae wa mou shindeiru...? No, opposite.
> 
> Please comment if you liked it to see if I can bring myself to continue! I'm super nervous h


	2. Anyone Catch the Number of that Truck?

Words died in his throat. A feeling of dread seemed to begin suffocating McCree upon hearing the chilling voice. It could only amplify as he could do nothing but watch the arm slowly twist and turn through his skin. The air itself felt still and silent. The tall blades of grass that once whipped around in the coastal winds and the water crashing against the rocks were trapped in slow-motion. He was barely able to note how far the sun had set to darken the area around them. The low light revealed the man in front of him with a faint, unnatural, lightning blue glow outlining his body and emphasizing his piercing gaze. Each movement of the arm and hand excited a cold, crackling feeling, and a numbness to spread wherever it made contact. He glanced up to see the apparition's mouth shaping words he cannot hear outside the abrupt return of sound. The coursing waves, screeching gulls, and ringing in his ears, everything was suddenly too loud, too fast. McCree's face skewed in his attempt to focus on anything at all but felt like every sense in his body was beginning to overreact. 

The hand was hastily retrieved from the centre of McCree's chest, causing him to gasp out a breath he didn't know he was holding. The older man seemed to glance at his own hand with scrutiny before waving it off and restarting the muted conversation. It wasn't a moment later when McCree's vision began to blur. The last thing he saw were the multiple changes of expressions that flickered fast on Hanzo's face- annoyance, confusion, shock- all before McCree found himself to be looking at the purple and orange hues chasing the sky and a sudden bright flash of blue. Then it was black. 

-

"You've got t'be pulling ma leg now." McCree laughed without humour. He pressed the buttons into the keypad of the shooting range with more force than necessary. Light metallic clinks contrasted with his own heavy footfalls and jangle of spurs as the two men entered the room. Their footsteps resounded in the large empty space as sensors turned on the lights. The room was absolutely devoid of any colour other than whites and greys except for a single, bright orange stripe that ran across the floor and the Overwatch logo fading away behind the door. There was more space between the firing line and target line than the area that people would stand in. The section they were in was surrounded on three sides with metal walls while the fourth 'wall' was a set of open windows dividing lanes for target practice. The larger portion of the room contained safety baffles along the ceiling and several little entryways along the sides and back wall. There were raised platforms at the back for which training bots could travel across. It was empty for the moment. McCree swiftly inputted commands onto the console at the back of the room and the whirring of machinery can be heard emerging from the sides. 

"I'm not pulling any legs, Jesse." The cyborg's partly synthetic voice spoke clear behind his silver mask. His expressions were hidden but McCree didn't need to look at his face to hear the exasperation. 

"Well, sorry if 'm a bit lost then," McCree slipped peacekeeper out of his holster, avoiding eye contact "but I can't rightly believe that Genji 'I'm gon' slice up my brother into a million pieces as he did me' Shimada decided that being left on the brink of death could be left bygones." McCree just couldn't get it. Genji had been set on revenge from the moment he entered Blackwatch to the moment McCree left. Were a few years enough to change so much? The thought caused him to mentally slap himself. Just giving a quick scan of the shooting range reveals the dustiness and battered state after its years of disuse. Of course things can change. 

Genji had chosen not to deign a response to the ridiculous impersonation. He followed McCree to the firing line and leaned against a metal post between two lanes, rolling his shoulders back with a deep, frustrated sigh. "It isn't like it was an easy decision. This was something that took time and reflection." 

"Took a lot of time in rehabilitation, literally relearnin' how t' live, and takin' your anger out on all 'em Shimada during Blackwatch ops against the clan." McCree deftly spun the gun and checked the bullets. "Was plenty of time for you to tell me about how much of a bastard th' guy is." 

"It is exactly that anger and frustration that clouded my mind back then. But that is past us, past me." The cyborg gestured to himself before accepting that McCree wasn't paying attention. He settled with pacing along the corridor as McCree took aim at the idle training bots. During the reload, Genji stopped directly behind McCree and laid an oddly warm, robotic hand on his shoulder. "As my friend, I wish you could consider reconsidering your perception on him."

McCree shouldered off the hand and shot out three unlucky bots on the balcony. He continued the silent treatment in hopes that the subject will be dropped. The younger Shimada gave another sigh through the nose as the two men stood there in silence, interrupted only by ringing gunshots and clattering metal pieces. Genji seemed to take another breath, deeper, calming, clenching and unclenching his fists, before lowering himself into quarter lotus against the wall opposite of the firing line. After a few more rounds McCree was sure that the conversation was done until Genji spoke up. 

"I just hope you can refrain from greeting my brother with a gun to his face if he will take up on my offer." 

"Wait." McCree lowered his gun and shot a dangerous glare back to Genji, his drawl coming out low and wary. "What offer?" 

"To put it simply: to join the recall." The cyborg only glanced up to level a look back at McCree, as if challenging him to interrupt. "As stubborn as he is, my brother needs a push, a opportunity to redeem oneself through one's actions. I hope that Overwatch can provide that second chance for him as it had to you." 

Six shots rang out. "Don't compare me t' that s.o.b. brother of yours." McCree practically growled. Reloaded. "I stole, killed, all that mess. And I was a kid. But it was because I was a kid, a poor, stupid, desperate kid." Five more bots exploded into scrap metal. The sixth let out an unsettling 'ow ow ow'. "Not that what I did is excused but it's a hells better reason for my crimes than being a spoiled- what?- almost 30 something year old who killed their own flesh and blood cuz a couple of ol geezers told me to." 

"Hanzo was-!" Genji straightened up defensively, shoulder taut and fists clenched on his lap. McCree paused mid-reload at the sudden outburst. It was almost reminiscent to the Genji he used to know. Yet it was only a brief reflection of the past before Genji cleared his throat and exhaled. It was a subtle movement that McCree caught; the tenseness from Genji's posture fading as fast as it happened. He watched the cyborg unclip the faceplate and stand with more grace than a mechanical body should offer. The mask was placed onto the stack of boxes and containers to his left with a soft clank. Now with a much clearer and more calm and controlled tone Genji made direct eye contact with the other. "I understand your image of my brother, it is partly my fault after all, but please, Jesse. Will you listen to what I have to say?" 

McCree studied his exposed face, noting the several scars that littered it. He usually felt proud of his ability to read people but being faced with Genji with such a determined look that bordered so close to a sort of pain or frustration wasn't helping his own stubbornness. He waited a few ticks before holstering the gun. It'd be reasonable to think there'd be more to this, Genji was a smart guy, even if being reasonable wasn't McCree's strong suit. Might as well hear what his best friend has to say even if McCree won't like it. He cursed inwardly for giving in. What the cowboy wouldn't give for a smoke or a bottle right about now. He turned to fully face the ninja with arms crossed and leaned against the ledge behind him. With a brusque head nod to tilt the hat back, McCree gave a defeated sigh and met the ninja's gaze. "Let's hear it." 

Genji took a moment to prepare his thoughts before mirroring McCree's posture. "You know that... allure that seems to come with teenage rebellion in your Western culture?" McCree nods. "The way things work where we come from is a bit different. Authority is... Everything. I suppose. Listening to your parents and elders, it's just the respectful thing to do. It all comes down to honour and respect. It just made sense like that." 

McCree chewed the inside of his cheek in attempt to hold back any retorts. He decided on another nod to confirm that he was still listening. 

"It's like this for many Eastern cultures. You grow up your entire life having to listen to your parents, your elders, or fear disappointing the family and yourself. If you couldn't grasp such a simple concept of respect, you're a disgrace." Genji clenched his fists. "And especially in our family, the Shimada-gumi. _Ninkyō dantai. Yakuza._ " 

"But you-" McCree quickly shut up and cleared his throat. Genji lifted a hand to pardon the interruption. 

"No, you're right. I did fall into the allure of rebellion from my youth well into my adult years. In a crime family, the rules were even more severe. There was a reputation to uphold yet I avoided responsibility. I snuck out of the house, played games, partied, drank, even slept around. I was the spoiled near 30-something year old." McCree swallowed as Genji threw his words back at him. "I just thought it was hilarious back then that the elders couldn't be as forceful and strict as they threatened to be. Our father favoured me as a son, not as an heir. I never even considered that Hanzo was the one receiving the consequences of my actions. He was the one that had to deal with all those responsibilities as the eldest and he seemed fine with it. But he had those crushing expectations of becoming _oyabun_ while I was allowed to do as I pleased by our father. I suffered little for my foolishness while my brother was blamed when he was unable to control me. Then our father died. Then the elders discovered my betrayal for Overwatch." He let out a weak laugh. "And all that time, I thought Hanzo hated me just because he was full of it. 

I'm going to admit, the reunion I told you about did not go smoothly. We fought." McCree raised a brow at that and Genji continued. "He shot first, thinking I was an enemy. And I... I shot back. Because of my anger that had resurfaced back then. At first I figured that he wouldn't listen to reason without a fight but eventually I lost myself in it. All those years I took revenge on the Shimada-gumi through eliminating as much members as I could and I thought _how could he believe just burning incense was enough? Did he care that little?_. If my brother were any lax, I could've actually killed him." 

"Like ya intended to." Genji shot a glare. McCree averted his gaze and pulled the hat down, reprimanding himself. "Sorry. " 

"I only managed to one-up my brother with the element of surprise. We both summoned the dragons and it caught him off guard. I dashed for a finishing blow, my wakizashi to his throat, but then I-" Genji looked down at his open hands. "I found myself. I found myself, inches from killing my own brother. My only family left. He had accepted death, maybe even wished for it. And I remembered that it wasn't worth it." he closed his eyes, inhaled deeply through his nose and out his mouth with a slight metallic reverb; the constant quirk McCree soon figured coined from meditation. " _Revenge is not justice._ That's what my master taught me. I couldn't kill my brother. I revealed my identity to Hanzo and he was... Angry. Frustrated. Lost. But I realized he was capable of changing. He's already changed since those days in the clan. I realized he needed a way out, away from his past, like you and I." 

McCree was at a loss of words. He could only gawk while Genji readjusted his stance back to a straighter, confident pose, and clipped the mask back on. He strode past McCree with a final pat to his shoulder. 

"So I've decided that I still forgive him and that he deserves a chance to forgive himself. The world is changing, Jesse. This includes your perception of it and the people within it. Think on that, my friend." And with that, the door slid shut behind Genji before McCree could say anything another word. God, he needed a drink. 

-

The ringing in his ears was still present accompanied by steady accelerating beeps as McCree was abruptly brought out of unconsciousness with a sharp intake of breath. The cowboy opened his eyes a bit too fast and was attacked by a bright, clinical white of the ceiling lights. He hissed and reflexively attempted to move away from the assailant. Any shift in movement came with a groan and reluctance to get up after remembering his exhaustion from little to no sleep and a whole lot of stress. The beeping gradually slowed down. A small 'tsk' was audible to his left along with the clatter of plastic and metal before the beeping stopped entirely. McCree made to face the source of noise and opened his eyes more slowly as the white of Angela's medical uniform eventually blinked into focus. McCree took a few moments to confirm that he was lying in a hospital cot in Watchpoint's medical ward. It was a fairly standard, sterile white with the only colour on a single, pale orange, painted wall behind the bed and the blinds on the opposite wall. A brief inspection told him that the clothes from earlier were still on, save for the serape and hat. Most other reasons for landing in this bed were usually resulted with lack of shirt and abundance of bandages so it seemed so far so good. McCree strained to meet Angela's face. It felt like his body was draped in lead but his head was in the air. It also felt strangely wet and cold. 

"Ugh, Ange?" 

Angela Ziegler's tired blue eyes made contact with his own brown and she breathed out a sigh. "Jesse," She whispered with no shortage of relief in her voice. She swiftly picked up a black pen and a light blue clipboard from the small side tray that connected to the bed. McCree found himself fixated on the clipboard. "Do you remember what happened?" 

McCree felt like his head and mouth were full of cotton. Trying to recollect anything just made him painfully aware of the throbbing pain in his skull. He chewed on his lower lip as he glanced to the closed window across from the bed. From what he could see under the half-drawn blinds, the sky had completed its change into a dark, cloudless night. With the migraine bordering his mind he could only answer the question with another disappointing groan. 

"You passed out from exhaustion. Right by the cliff side," the doctor noted as she tapped the clipboard disapprovingly, "managed to hit your head before nearly tumbling down to your death if not for Lena". 

McCree gave a pointed grunt of acknowledgement, avoiding eye contact during the breakdown-turned-admonishing. An ice pack on the side tray explained the uncomfortable sensation that lingered where he must have been hit. The swelling seems to have died down but his skull still felt rattled beyond belief. _Death by falling down a cliff. An anticlimactic way t' go._ "Remind me t' thank her later." He slurred. He brought up his right hand to his temple before suddenly covering his mouth when a wave of nausea hit him. 

__It took a few minutes before McCree was able to calm down from the sick feeling in his gut. Angela had started writing away at her clipboard and proceeded with several check-ups on his vision, hearing, and coordination. "As I suspected." Angela spoke up after finishing her writing She closely eyed Jesse as he placed the empty glass down with a shake he couldn't hide from her discerning eyes. "You're suffering a concussion from the hit. It isn't as bad as it could have been but I still want you to stay put."_ _

"Heh, thanks bu-" 

"-And that means rest, Jesse. No missions, no training. _Rest_." She interrupted with a clearly stern look. They stared down each other until McCree slumped back onto the cot in defeat. He closed his eyes, more in attempt to hold back the rising headache rather than sleep. He didn't need them open to feel Angela's critical stare boring into him. The light taps of her shoes were heard trailing from his left side to his right and he felt the thin mattress dip the slightest. 

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__"I know you haven't been sleeping well. Winston, Lena, and even Athena told me you started chasing after something that wasn't there." Her voice was much quieter, more concern audible without the scolding tone. McCree can feel some recollection of him running outside the base. "One starts to suffer hallucinations after 72 hours of sleep deprivation."_ _

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_A hallucination, huh?_ A blue silk ribbon. 

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__Angela took a deep breath. "You can't hide the fact that you've been taking every opportunity to go off somewhere by yourself when someone brings up Overwatch's past. It's more than clear that you haven't slept much at all. Besides your vigilante lifestyle, I know this recall has had a large impact on you, your mental health." A pause. "And with Ana and Jack..." That made McCree peer back at Angela through half-lidded eyes. She had taken a seat at the bottom right corner of the cot, not facing him but with a frown visible from this angle. She tucked a loose blonde lock behind her ear before continuing. "Things were a little shaky, everyone coming together with a bit of hope and a bit of apprehension. Then those two arrived... I know how much it must have shocked you, it was a shock to everyone and..." She stopped and shook her head. "What I'm trying to say is... Even after all these years, we're still friends, yes?"_ _

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__"Yeah, 'course." McCree's voice grew rough from a niggling sense of drowsiness._ _

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__"Then I ask you, not just as your doctor, but as your friend to confide in me. In any of your friends here. Talk to us." Her tone became more steady as she continued. "You're not travelling alone anymore, Jesse. So don't-..." Angela trailed off when she turned to see McCree, focusing on something across the room, eyes wide and face paled. "Jesse?"_ _

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__He whipped his face back at her, voice shaky. "Y-Yeah?" He swallowed. "Sorry I jus'- the nausea came back." A decent fib if not for the doctor's unconvinced squint. He shifted between her raised brow and the window from before, blinds drawn up. It was still as black as ink outside but the view was obscured by the faint white figure standing in the middle. The blue ribbon. Angela turned little more than a few degrees to follow his eyesight before McCree grabbed ahold of her right hand. He needed a segue and fast. "Okay, fine. It was jus'... Bringin' up those old folk, and remembering their lil' scuffles with... Gabe."_ _

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__Angela's expression immediately softened with understanding. McCree almost felt guilty for the lie but it wasn't like the subject wasn't something that had been clawing at him for the past week now. She turned her palm up to wrap around his hand. "I apologize, Jesse. Perhaps we should wait until the concussion subsides before we continue this conversation." She gave a small squeeze with her lithe fingers over his own calloused ones. "But will you promise that you actually try to continue it?" McCree gave a wordless, distracted nod. " _Promise?_ " She repeated more firmly. _ _

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__"Yes, Ange. I promise." McCree kept his voice steady and tried his best to focus entirely on her eyes until she seemed satisfied with the answer. He let go of her hand and peaked at the window. Empty. He blinked back at Angela as she stood up and brushed off her uniform. "So how long do I gotta sit here anyway?" he asked._ _

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__"A week at least. I'd prefer to observe for a little more, just in case." Angela walked over to a short, white wheeled cabinet off to the left of the room. There was an assortment of items on top, including a water bottle used to refill the glass for McCree, and a bottle of painkillers. "You don't have to stay here. You may rest in your own quarters. I'm sure it'll be much more comfortable."_ _

"Oh, thank the Lord!" McCree gave an exaggerated sigh of relief and sunk further into the bed. Angela gave a quiet snort and giggle for his dramatics before handing over the glass and bottle. 

"But I'm asking Athena to keep an eye on you. You're being grounded from the training ranges." She lightly scolded before turning to the touch screen integrated into the wall by the door. 

"Fair enough." McCree chuckled and gulped down the water and pills. He made a face at the bitter taste. He pocketed the bottle and finished the glass. "Hey, Ange?" 

"Yes?" Angela continued tapping on the screen. 

"Thanks." 

She looked back at him, astonished, before she gave a soft, genuine smile. "You're welcome, Jesse." 

With some careful footwork, and a few last instructions from the doctor to drink plenty of water, McCree was free from the medical ward. 

He finally arrived to the comfort of his room. Well, as much comfort as an old, cold, and dusty living quarter can offer. The lights flipped on as he entered and he blinked away the headache that resurfaced. You've seen one room, you've seen them all with the grey metal walls and tacky orange curtains. Although, a few weeks into the recall has allowed McCree to spread his cowboy aesthetic into the small living space. A few faded photographs were taped along the walls, some of older times, some of recent scenery that McCree had the urge to capture in his travels. The beat up polaroid he used for the pictures sat next to a potted cactus and another succulent given as a gift which lined the window sill. Other little gifts and trinkets he collected were displayed on a shelves along the wall of the main door. All his clothes were in the built-in closet across from the single bed in the back left corner of the room. A scuffed up guitar sat in the opposite corner next to a simple white desk that currently holds all his equipment for taking care of peacemaker. Speaking of which, the gun was found atop the red serape draped over the bed along with his hat. McCree relocated everything into a messy pile on the desk and made a mental note to organize them later. Maybe. McCree was once again grateful for the private bathrooms available with the low number of members. He barely paid attention to anything else, sparing a glance to the bottles of whiskey and bourbon he stashed away in a box below his desk, as he stepped into the en-suite. He brusquely splashed his face and got ready for bed, deciding to forego the alcohol for now. He stripped off the beige collared shirt, further messing up his already tousled hair, and threw it over the chair to put away later. Maybe. He kept on the black undershirt. Thank god he didn't wear chaps today because he didn't feel up to wrestling with his long legs right about now. With a pounding headache and days' worth of exhaustion catching up to him, the cowboy crashed onto the (thankfully) soft mattress. Athena dimmed the lights as McCree slipped into a much-needed rest, both unaware of the other presence of the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -gumi= a suffix for a yakuza family name  
> ninkyō dantai= "chivalrous organization", a title that yakuza refer to themselves as  
> oyabun= leader of yakuza
> 
> A lot of orange. For visual reference, the shooting range is similar to that of the game's tutorial but with a smaller area behind the firing line.
> 
> A little bit of personal experience went into this. Respect your elders and all that... Please correct me if I make mistakes! English is ;;


	3. Ghosts of the Past, Present, and...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or "McCree doesn't get a break"

McCree could hear the muffled sounds of fervent conversation before he opened his eyes to a crowded, painfully familiar bar somewhere in Nevada. It was rowdy and busy inside the small, low-lit getaway, filled with enough noise and bodies to blend into. None of the details were important, the specific city, the people around him. It was what came next that haunted him for the next several years. The sudden hush and audible gasps cued the start of the real memory. Everyone's attention was glued onto a set of flatscreens suspended above the bar counter as breaking news cut into half the screen of an ongoing but now muted sports game. The screen was also crowded by a ticker that scrolled across the bottom displaying words that made McCree feel his metal hand tighten on the glass of whatever he'd been drinking at the time. The news anchor's voice was sharp and clear over to the muddled whispering around him and much too loud. He felt his lungs fill with the dread that he could never prepare for no matter how many times he relived this moment.

_THE END OF OVERWATCH_

_EXPLOSION AT GENEVA BASE_

_" ...has been reduced to rubble. There were over two hundred personnel reported to be inside prior to explosion. So far over 20 casualties have been found within the ruins, 8 of which confirmed dead. Search and rescue operations are still ongoing. The conference in which... "_

Just as always, the shot glass cracked then shattered easily in the death grip of McCree's prosthesis. He never noticed the bartender scolding him as the world was drowned out by the sounds of his own breath and heart beat. Breathing became difficult and strained. It felt like he was light-headed and crushed at the same time. _Overwatch. Gone. Dead._ He staggered to his feet, toppling the bar stool, barely having half the mind to remember his hat before shoving his way through the waves of people crowding the front.

He knew this would happen when he exited the building but McCree never could stop himself from the suffocating urge to run out. What awaited him through the doors were never the streets blinding with bright neon lights of bars, hotels, and casinos, sidewalks flooded with excited people, and roads with overly pimped-up vehicles. No, there were ruins. Full of blacks, greys, and muddy browns. Even dark, ominous clouds choked out the blue from the sky. Smoke and dust whipped around and stung his eyes as he found himself within with the destroyed remains of the Geneva base. McCree didn't bother to turn around to know the door he came from had disappeared with the fake, harsh winds. Large pillars, broken walls, and miscellaneous debris were piled haphazardly amongst themselves and seemed ready to break away and crush him any second. Broken pipes led to slight flooding and puddles of dirty water between heaps of rubble. Severed wires guaranteed death if McCree were to plunge into one of the make-shifts pools. The flames that should have resulted from the explosion were no where to be found aside from the evidence of its existence with the scorched marks that littered positively everything. There were no people in sight; no firefighters or police, no emergency medical responders, no Overwatch personnel. McCree began to back away from the collapsing structure, finding more destroyed and burned remains of the base's architecture and furniture. He pulled his hat down, feeling his eyes water and his mouth dry for more reasons than the dust that disrupted each inhale. 

McCree suddenly felt his boot's spur snag onto something behind him and he tripped backwards. Between the prior splashing of his boots and sparks threatening him from the corner of his eye, McCree would have been sure he fell into an electrocuted death if not for the solid ground that struck his back and head. It seemed that no matter what he did, he always ended up in the same place following his role in this nightmare rehearsal. He had to twist around on the floor, untangling himself from his serape, and looked down at his feet as his vision recovered. His eyes focused on whatever he tripped over. Just as always, there it was: a body.

"God, please no," McCree whispered to himself, skewing his eyes shut. He attempted to calm his breathing, to recall all the training and exercising he's had for control but he made the mistake of opening his eyes. The body was charred beyond belief. A limb or two were blown off from the explosion, hard to tell from the mess of blood and ripped clothe. Clothing was burning away and skin was destroyed, halfway revealing muscle and bone. The sickening stench of burnt flesh and death struck him. But he couldn't stop staring. It would have been unidentifiable to anyone else at first glance but the former Blackwatch agent knew who the corpse was. Sometimes it was a different person, but always someone he knew. This time the mutilated remains hinted at dark skin and even darker hair rather than a fair blond or a long sleek brown. The body abruptly twitched and turned, emitting sick crackling that made McCree's stomach churn. He dug his boots into the ground and tried to drag his uncooperative body to just _move_. He clasped his hands over his mouth and begged his dream-self to look anywhere else. Of course it didn't work. What remained of a face lolled to the side to stare back at him with wide, blood-shot, and furious eyes. They were a dark brown the bordered red with the hatred lurking within them. The corpse's mouth opened.

"You damn ingrate." It barely sounded human anymore. "Running away, again?"

-

McCree woke up.

The cowboy found himself lying on his bed, blanket forgotten and slipping between the mattress and wall, his left leg dangling out, head facing the right side of the room where light tried to filter through the thick curtains. He's never so glad to see the tacky orange that tinted his room and small bits of green from the potted plants than whenever he has to deal with the same, stupid nightmares. He could still smell smoke. He curled up on himself and gripped at his shirt as he mulled over those final words.

_"Running away again?"_

_I did run. And I survived. And now they're all..._

He quickly shook his head at the train of thought, face nudging against the mattress and adding to his bedhead. The people he was closest to back then, the people he thought he inadvertently left for dead, they were probably wandering the base right now, having a cup of tea or coffee. Meanwhile, here he was, curled into a ball, forcing his lungs to work and with sweat sticking uncomfortably to his skin. He rolled onto his back and winced when the slight pressure made him realize the back of his head was still tender. It was an unfortunate parallel to the what he would feel if the dream was real.

It's been about a week or two since Morrison, or 'Soldier: 76' apparently, and Ana appeared out of nowhere. They just walked up to the base not too long after he did. Soldier had immediately began to argue with Winston about the recall, probably the only reason he showed up in Gibraltar. He gave barely even a greeting to anyone else after being thought dead from the Geneva explosion for the past few years. Ana, on the other hand, had spent the first week giving everyone individual quality time for reconciliation, and apologies. She was thought to have died even before the base's destruction. Left behind when a mission went wrong. No, she just played dead it seemed. McCree had ended up avoiding her whenever she might have wanted to speak with him next. The guilt from that was killing him, she was the closest thing to a mother he's had, but he just couldn't bring himself to face her. It didn't feel like he had the right to ask her _'why did you leave?'_ or _'didn't you think about what everyone else felt'?_. Or tell her that in the end, she was the reason he-... 

Then they said that Reyes might not be dead either. Like, what the hell? He can't deny that the old soldiers were alive when they were literally talking to him. So why did he still have to have nightmares of the dead who weren't actually dead?

__"Damned ghosts," He swore at the ceiling._ _

He stared at nothing for what felt like several minutes waiting for his breathe to even out when he remembered. _Ghosts._

"Shimada." 

The name came out in a harsh whisper as the image of the man at the cliffs and in the window resurfaced. Doctor or not, McCree couldn't really believe Angela's diagnosis of 'sleep-deprived hallucinations' was enough to explain how he had a full conversation with someone he's never met before. He's seen images before, old photographs and wanted posters, and outdated for sure. The man in the most recent photo didn't have as much facial hair and didn't have a full body shot. He's definitely never heard the man speak either. Sleep-deprivation can't be enough to imagine the older version of your best friend's dead(?) murderer vivid enough to talk and respond. Maybe it could? But at this point, with this many people back from the dead, anything is possible. McCree let out an internal, sardonic laugh at that. However, if McCree did hallucinate Genji's brother, maybe stemming from their argument last week, he couldn't fathom why he imagined the man he probably hated more than anyone could of a stranger half-naked. A minute of debating later, he kept his eyes up and swallowed. 

"Hey," he called out to thin air. "Ya still here?" His voice felt rough and too loud within the small space. It seemed before that the Shimada was going to follow him when he appeared at the med bay so it was worth a shot to believe he'd follow him here, right? 

It only took a moment until something blue flashed at the corner of his eye and McCree's breath hitched. He sat up just the slightest only to see the touch screen by his room door had turned on and displayed a patient, blue 'A'. 

"Oh," he breathed out. "Sorry, Athena. Was jus'... talking to myself there." The screen blinked off. Now he just felt embarassed. McCree briefly wondered he could ask the AI about the a ghost? No. He shook his head, a mistake when it brought back a throbbing pain. It was too awkward to be unsure if the AI would judge him if he asked specifically not to inform the doctor about this. The gunslinger decided to sit up fully, stretch his arm out, realize he forgot to remove his prosthesis with a groan, and wait for his heart rate to calm down. A quick scan of his room showed was no sign of Shimada heir or any other supernatural clues to where he's gone. If he were real anyway. And if McCree actually knew what clues to look for. And if he were real, McCree swore to get back at the bastard for making a fool out of him. The cowboy was just... caught off guard. Surely using freaky, spirit powers was cheating. Cheating in what, exactly? McCree didn't exactly know but he felt like he lost somehow. He didn't much like losing. Yeah, he'll give that cursed samurai a piece of his mind. 

__Satisfied with his new goal, McCree lied back down. He ended up wincing again, having already forgotten about the injury. Had to ice it or something again, right? Or heat? You'd think he'd know the process by now. Where did he leave the painkillers again? This wouldn't actually last a week, right? The medic was probably exaggerating. He'd been through worse. McCree rolled back to the side facing the curtains and ran his flesh hand gingerly over the bump behind his head. It was too early for this. McCree craned his neck up to look at the digital clock that sat atop the headboard that acted as a shelf. 11:42AM. Okay, it wasn't early. It didn't feel like he slept much at all though. Didn't feel refreshed or anything. Kinda felt worse. He didn't remember what time he crashed into the bed anyway._ _

__McCree almost dozed off again when a sharp set of knocks at the door caused McCree to jump. A muffled but obviously high, energetic voice can be heard behind the door before the screen turned on again and revealed Lena on the other side. McCree sat up completely and took a deep breath. He took a moment to reprimand himself for being so jumpy lately. "Come on, McCree. America's most dangerous gunslinger. Cowboy extraordinaire. Can't be afraid of no ghosts." He clapped both hands to his face and strenuously made his way out of bed. Lena's face was close to the camera, staring directly at it with a wide, honey-coloured eyes and closed smile. You could see her bouncing on her feet with that permanent supply of energy the chipper Brit seemed to possess. She repeated whatever she said before now that the mic was on, her voice was slightly tinny in quality but much more intelligible._ _

__"Oi, McCree! Ya missed breakfast and it's almost lunch so I decided to pop in for a bit to tell you that your share's in the oven whenever you wanna eat." She gestured vaguely off-screen before giggling. "Should probably be soon before Doctor Ziegler comes to drag you down herself."_ _

__"Yeah, yeah," McCree replied with a yawn before he shut off the screen and clicked the door open. "Anything else to report to me?"_ _

__"Yeah, jus' a couple things." Lena stepped into the room, nose scrunching a bit at what was probably the smell of cigarillo. She was wearing bright red-orange sweatpants that were a little too long for her and a white shirt cut short above her stomach. It made McCree realize he was still in his black turtle neck and boxers from yesterday but it was too late for that now. You can see Lena's eyes zip around the room and somehow finish her observation quick enough look up to McCree again. Lena had to tilt her head quite a bit since the height between the two agents couldn't have been more different. He smirked a bit and would have gave a huff of a laugh if her face wasn't suddenly full of concern. He spoke up._ _

__"So, a coupl-"_ _

__"Are you alright?" Only to be cut off rather loudly with a sudden step forward by the younger agent. Lena cleared her throat and backed away, continuing in a more even tone. "A couple things. First of, I heard from Angela that you haven't been sleeping a wink for like, what, a week? Then the whole scare at the cliff side..."_ _

_Ah, right. 'Course. That._ McCree combed through his hair with his hand, avoiding eye contact. "Eh, y'know. 'M a busy guy. Got more important things t'do." 

__"Like what? We haven't exactly had any serious missions lately. Honestly that means more time to doze away!" Always the optimistic. "And yet there you were, like, sleep-walking or-"_ _

__"I wasn't sleep-walkin'." McCree frowned. Lena only grinned back at him. He gave a angry, but playful huff and crossed his arms. "Okay, yeah, haven't been sleepin'. Hard for folks like me." He gestured his mechanical arm around. "Like us." He tacked on quickly remembering that every agent here had their own ghosts of the past._ _

__Lena just smiled, a softer one though. "Just be more careful. I know you care so much about people around you but you gotta take care of yourself too. Besides! Dozing off a cliff? Maybe not the best way to go."_ _

__McCree chuckled at that, remembering his exact same thoughts. "I know, right?"_ _

__She giggled in response. "You're real spawny, McCree. I just barely grabbed your arm when you went down. May have bumped your head a little but I couldn't exactly lift you into my arms!"_ _

__"Ha! Imagine that." McCree definitely towered over the 5 foot 3 pilot and most definitely weighed more. He has to admit that he can't say his weight is all from his muscles anymore. Years of running and neglected exercise routines can do that. The gunslinger shook out of his thoughts and gave Lena an honest grin. "Thank ya for that, by th' way. Sure, my head hurts like someone stuck it into a tin can like a coin and gave it a good shake, but thanks." Lena seemed to pause a bit in thought before throwing a wink and finger gun._ _

"So," The young woman raised her left hand up and listed fingers off. "Breakfast's in the oven. Lunch is starting-" a quick glance at the clock on the bed and a quick snort at the glowing '12:00' that McCree didn't need explanation for- "starting probably now. Angela asked me to check up on you- I was asking for my own sake as well. Oh, she says you need to alternate between ice _and_ heat for your head!" McCree nodded. "Aaand... Hm. That might be it." 

__"Well, thanks for the update. I'll be down soon, after cleaning up." He could feel his tangled mess of hair and realized his shirt was ridden up a bit. "So you just skedaddle along. Will meet you there."_ _

__Lena gave a mock salute and began to make her way out of the room. She paused mid-turn, letting out a quiet 'oh, right!' before she poked her head back into the room with a sly grin. "Genj told me t' tell you something," she stepped back in fully and straightened her back, readying her best impression of the ninja. "'Do not be so foolish next time, McCree. Human bodies are not as sturdy as cyborg bodies. And not as cool.'" McCree was thrown off guard and couldn't help the short wheezing laugh. He imagined for a second Genji doing backflips off the cliff just to rub it in. Cyborg enhancements should count as cheating as well. He took a moment to take a breather and was ready to wave the pilot goodbye when a question came to mind. Two questions._ _

__"Why didn' Genji jus' tell me that himself? Come to think of it, I haven' seen that little jerk in a while."_ _

__Lena made a sort of 'O' face and glanced around. She gestured McCree to lean closer before whispering comically loud. "Winston's had the cheeky fella runnin' around and doin' a bunch of stuff for him. Intel, communications... I'm thinking we might be getting a mission soon." She winked before giving an exaggerated sigh. "Buuut, Genji isn't letting me in on any details. No fair!"_ _

__"Hope it ain't too soon! Ange's got me grounded." He slumped and put his weight against the door. If not for Lena being so helpfully nosy, McCree probably would've believed Genji was avoiding him on purpose with what happened at the shooting range. But to his knowledge, Genji and Lena were pretty close. Seemed to talk quite a bit even back at Blackwatch after their first few training sessions. Well, 'talk' being a loose term with how closed-off Genji was. They only got closer when he started doing ops with the main Overwatch crew while McCree was kept in Blackwatch. He grimaced. The cyborg had every right to leave McCree out of this secret mission but the fact Lena is being left in the dark too was a bit more iffy. Another thing to mull over in his free time, he supposed. "What I wouldn't do to actually get out of this base once in a while." He chuckled blandly, changing the subject._ _

__Lena balanced back on her heels and hummed in thought. "Could accompany me sometime when I visit Emy back in London. I mean, I'd probably be too busy to show you around but you've been there once before, yeah? Could probably find a pub to wag off in if you weren't so skint." The cowboy got lost at the end of that sentence but got that gist of it._ _

"I'd probably gonna end up laying out like always. An' yeah, I've been to King's Row before." So many years before. "So thanks for th' offer but 'm hankering for a new, more scenic place to get hungover in. And I wouldn't wanna intrude on yer quality time with yer pretty lady." It wasn't long after he arrived that Lena had been showing off pictures of her girlfriend on her phone. He didn't feel welcome in being his mopey self and bringing the happy couple down. Being social was usually fine but McCree didn't feel up to it this early afternoon. 

Either the jokes or the sudden influx of his own slang got a laugh out of the young Brit. "Well, if the two of us decide to go sight seeing, you're welcome to just hitch a ride too". McCree gave a noncommital grunt in response, still unsure, but it was enough for Lena to finish the conversation. She finally left with a 'see ya!' before bounding down the hall. McCree watched her turn the corner and the light of her chronal accelerator disappear before closing the door. He looked back at his room, now feeling a bit too quiet and empty again with the absence of Lena's amiable presence. 

__McCree cursed under his breathe when he realized he forgot to ask her if she saw anyone else at the cliff._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late because the past two weeks have been busy with schoolwork and a youth retreat!  
> But hey! Tracer's here. She'll be around. No Hanzo in this chapter... And Genji is??? busy?  
> I swear McCree will stay awake next chapter.  
> Please comment your thoughts and if I missed any grammar mistakes


	4. More Questions than Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree has a lot on his plate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been? A month. School and work :( but here it is

McCree eventually shambled down to the base's mess hall after giving himself a good while for his mind to reel back in. 

After Lena had left, McCree glanced briefly towards the desk and the drawers that held a laptop and debated doing some research before getting cleaned up and going downstairs. The sudden rumbling in his stomach argued against it however and he ended up deciding to take a quick shower instead. McCree changed out of yesterday's clothes into some loose jeans, a black t-shirt, and a faded red flannel thrown on top to deal with the strangely cold temperature. He barely glanced at the bathroom mirror to check his hair before plopping his hat on and made his way down. 

He was already feeling better than yesterday. Physically. 

He'd been through worse over his lifetime than what happened over the past 24 hours and he can feel a frown tug at him for being so shook up from an old, repetitive nightmare. In his defense, there was the addition of a literal ghost that may or may not be haunting him. 

The walk from his quarters to the kitchen allowed him enough time to get lost in a couple theories about his predicament. So far, there were two scenarios. 

Scenario one: Shimada was a sleep-deprivation driven hallucination. 

First of, _was I really_ that _bad?_ McCree didn't even think about how little he's slept. He's always been on and off even before the recall. If Genji noticed, he didn't say anything towards McCree's irritable behaviour from the lack of rest. McCree wasn't sure what to think about the ninja's newfound patience. Ah. It was much after his argument with Genji that he got worse. It was after that event when the old soldiers arrived, he realized. 

Moving on, he thought of another question. Why _Hanzo Shimada?_

The argument with Genji was still fresh, he reasoned. A weak reason but better than none. The last images he'd seen of the guy were Genji's photographs from almost 10 years ago and vaguely descriptive wanted posters scattered throughout those 10 years. None of which had shown the man's now full beard and the few greys in his hair. He hadn't seen a man in that type of clothing before either, and definitely not Hanzo Shimada in them. He figured that if he searched up the name later, it'd pull up blurry surveillance images that wouldn't have helped. Nothing felt like a decent reason to be able to picture such a clear image of a man he never properly met.

Scenario one is started to feel a little weak. 

Scenario two: Shimada is a legit, bona fide ghost. 

_Why appear to me?_ McCree had to wonder. 

_I was the first he bumped into_ , he guessed. There wasn't any reason to believe no one else can see him. Angela said that Winston and Lena were watching him through the surveillance drones and McCree has concluded through experience that live video didn't work for ghosts. There was always hype about the supernatural being caught in photographs however but McCree was never interested enough to learn the difference between it all. He was paranoid at best, even he has to admit, but he wasn't superstitious despite the stories he grew up around as a child. Those were mostly about spirits and animals anyway. He really had nothing to go off on for this until he knows more. Lena was the only one that could've seen Shimada when she grabbed McCree, and maybe anyone that came to help her. She didn't say anything this morning but McCree still felt the need to make sure. Later. 

McCree rounded a corner leading towards the mess hall. The corridor was lit up by the lengthy windows taking up the left side that allowed him a nice view of the Strait of Gibraltar. The sun was high in the sky and McCree could feel the heat from outside that warmed the metal interior of the corridor despite the base's AC. He paused in his step to take a deep breath. 

_Why was Shimada here?_ Another question. 

_Genji,_ an obvious answer. But how did he know Genji was here? 

Through some evil, supernatural, ghost sense? McCree snorted at the thought but frowned once again. Since Genji confronted his brother about earlier this year, late spring-ish, the older Shimada knew that Genji was alive. But he didn't know where Genji was staying. Remembering back to their last conversation, McCree figured Genji was planning on telling his brother about the recall later which implied that he never told Hanzo about the Watchpoint's location. Not yet. But here he was.

McCree continued on his way to the door at the end of the corridor but felt more distracted by a sudden thought. If Hanzo was here to do good on his fratricidal tendencies then how is McCree going to kill a ghost? Not that Genji couldn't defend himself normally but... _Wait. Does Genji even know that his brother could be--_

Speak of the devil, just as McCree was to turn through the doorway, the cyborg in question stepped out just in time to collide shoulder to shoulder. 

_Out of all th' people t' bump into...!_

The sudden impact caused a plastic bottle full of some brightly coloured drink to slip out of Genji's hand. It only took a second for the ninja to swiftly catch it with the same hand with ease. McCree could only gawk, eyes wide, realizing he didn't know how to approach Genji about his brother later and definitely not now. 

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Genji laughed and straightened up before he waved the bottle in front of McCree's face. 

_And out of all the things to say..._ McCree blinked and could recognize it was some sort of energy drink. He looked back at Genji, mask off, armor on, with an oversized t-shirt as if for the sake of looking casual. If he were anyone else, it was very to assume Genji didn't care about how he looked but McCree has known him long enough to know it's the opposite case. If anything, Genji thought he looked _good_. The cowboy made quick note of how the cyborg's body was turned slightly away from him, towards the split in the hall that wasn't leading to the sleeping quarters, but his tone was incredibly even and unhurried. McCree didn't let himself look faltered for more than a second before slipping on a familiar cheesy grin he hoped was enough to fool the ninja. He can't talk about Hanzo. Not yet. 

"Yer one t' say that," McCree joked easily. "Ever look in a mirror? Nah, of course ya do; probably practicing all yer supposed cool poses" 

Genji threw his head back with a laugh. McCree couldn't help to chuckle along. It felt as if there wasn't any tension between them that McCree had feared. They haven't talked since their last argument after all. Maybe Genji wasn't harbouring anything against him after all. Or he was as good as hiding it as any other feeling. McCree felt both a pang of guilt and doubt. 

"You are right, my friend. My poses are cool," Genji teased and McCree snorted. "You have just woken up?"

"Actually a lil' while ago." McCree leaned back on his heels. He let loose the tension he didn't notice in his shoulders with a shrug. "Didn' actually get movin' 'til later." 

"But I will assume that means you haven't eaten." Genji narrowed his eyes at him but kept the grin. 

"Nope," McCree answered nonchalantly with a pop at the end. "But hey that's why I'm down 'ere now, see."

Genji looked hard at him for only a few more moments before McCree caught him glance away for a moment. 

"There is something I need to do," Genji announced suddenly, tilting his head and gesturing down the hall. The smile was dropped. "So I cannot stay and chat for long. Stay well, Jesse." He waved with the hand holding the bottle and made his way down the hall. 

With such an abrupt goodbye, McCree was left standing by the door just watching Genji's figure disappear down the hall. He could feel the familiar apprehension creeping back up his throat. It wouldn't do to keep being suspicious of his friend, especially since Lena had already given the reason for Genji's business, but it was just in McCree's nature to see before believing. And have some facts for reassurance.

In the end, McCree concluded that he had more questions than answers until another visit from either the ghost or Genji. It wasn't a very satisfactory conclusion but there wasn't anything else he could do.

With a frustrated sigh and shake of his head, McCree stepped through and made his way to the kitchen. He always hated being in such a position where he didn't have all or any of the cards. He'd rather get some food before doing some research later.

The kitchen was a rather claustrophobic section off to the side of the small eating area. Most of its space was hogged by ovens, the refrigerator, and the like that allowed maybe less than five people in at a time. As much as the current residents nicknamed this place as the 'mess hall' it really wasn't that large. There was a section further down the Watchpoint that was the real mess hall but wasn't used due to its still decrepit state and the lack of members to actually need the large space. This eating area had enough elongated tables to seat about 20 people.

With a few months into the recall, only eight previous Overwatch agents had returned and two newcomers followed suit. A discrete glance around the so-called mess hall showed that about half of them were sitting at the tables. As she said, Lena was here to greet him as he passed by on the way to the kitchen. He gave a quick hat tip before she returned to talking excitedly on the phone. Angela sat across from her along with Hana Song, a new arrival from earlier this week. Angela was writing down notes while the two conversed. McCree still didn't know much about the young girl besides the fact she was apparently part of her home country's militia and some celebrity. McCree is reminded of the other newcomer, an omnic monk with a long name that McCree didn't catch clearly. The monk arrived with Genji a few weeks ago, introducing himself as a teacher of sorts. He was no where to be seen but this was an eating area for humans so McCree wasn't expecting him to be here anyway. Morris- Soldier brusquely entered the room and walked by McCree towards a lone table in the far back. The rest of the team was still not here along with Genji who just left.

All in all, the room was plenty enough for their current party. McCree tried not to dwell on the fact that it's a rather underwhelming one. Winston said were people that have yet to arrive after all. McCree wouldn't tell it to anyone but it was probably obvious that he was a little anxious about the recall. It took him a good while before answering it himself what with the way Overwatch went out last time. 

McCree didn't realize he had paused in his step until a wooden spatula was waved around, catching his attention. 

"Jesse, habibi, you're not usually so quiet," Ana Amari chided lightly from the kitchen doorway. 

McCree was not ready to approach Ana either. He swallowed silently and threw on a half-hearted smile.

"Sorry, ma'am. Got a lot on m' mind, s'all." He tipped his hat as a way to get a short huff of laughter from the elder and as a way to cut off eye contact. "Hopin' to get a lot in m' stomach too. Pardon me." McCree strode past her to the oven and pulled a plate of what was probably Lena's cooking by the looks of it. Eggs, sausage, toast, even bacon and grilled tomatoes. McCree didn't know he was as hungry as he was until seeing how much was stuffed into one plate. 

Picking the toast to eat right away, he stuck the plate to heat up in the microwave and leaned against the counter. There was just the slightest bit of unspoken tension as he watched Ana from the side of his eye. She seemed busy enough being in charge of today's lunch to notice him watching. Without the multitude of kitchen staff and chefs that the Watchpoint used to have, each member that had even as much cooking knowledge as putting bread in a toaster is obligated to help out in the kitchen. McCree was unfortunately not as handy in that department but he would help if he could. 

He kept watching as the microwave hummed. Ana was wearing a patterned blue hijab with a simple long-sleeved blouse and knee-length skirt. Her silver hair was tucked into a side-braid the poked out under the hijab. Everything exuded the atmosphere of a gentle woman if you didn't notice her eye patch and ability to make you fear for your life. 

The silence started to draw too long that he felt Ana side-eye him just the slightest. It was enough to tell she was becoming suspicious. The microwave beeped. 

"So," McCree coughed and cleared his throat. Ana stopped stirring and looked at him with an expectant smile. "Whatcha cookin'?"

" _Ful medames_ ," Ana answered simply. He didn't pretend to know what that was and she chuckled at his skewed expression as he mouthed the words to himself. She eyed a pot that sat behind the pan as McCree tilted his head up to see what was in the pan. Seems she had been stirring some sort of beans. She adjusted the heat on the stove and gently placed the spatula on a plate. "It is more a breakfast dish to some but it was what came to mind when searching the closest markets," she continued. McCree felt himself nodding. Each agent assigned to do a 'resupply mission', or grocery shopping, had to do so without drawing attention to themselves or the supposed-to-be-abandoned Watchpoint. If he remembered the schedule correctly, it was his turn tomorrow.

"Make'sh sh'ensh," said McCree with a mouth full of food. Ana turned away to lift up the lid from the pot, boiled eggs he realized, with a disapproving but amused huff. 

"'M gonna sit out there now," McCree announced. She hummed in response and he took it as permission to leave, balancing a half-full plate in on hand and grabbing a water bottle with the other on the way out. 

At least, he wanted to get out but was stopped by a spatula in his way again. 

McCree turned to face her with rather legitimate surprise at the sudden action but he was fairly sure he knew what was coming. A familiar headache was threatening to come back. Ana's one eye was pinning him in place like a hawk. 

"Jesse."

"Ma'am."

"You will finish that food and wait in the mess hall for lunch?" Her voice was deceptively gentle. 

"Guesso," McCree sniffed and kept his voice nonchalant.

"And we will eat together?"

"If that's what yer askin'."

"And I'm asking that we talk."

McCree could hear practically the same sentence accompanied by a beeping heart monitor.

He glanced into the mess hall where everyone was where he last saw them. Lena had finished with her call and started conversing with Angela, Hana was on a handheld and phone at the same time, Soldier was staring still at a data pad, Reinhardt had arrived and took at seat across from Soldier; all seemingly unaware of his predicament aside for when Angela failed a subtle glance at him. 

McCree turned back to Ana and found her patient but powerful gaze waiting for an answer. He knew he avoided her long enough and he didn't like the thought of being hunted down by a mothering hen in the form of an eagle-eyed sniper. 

She smiled when her sharp eye caught the slight sag in the man's shoulders in resignation. 

"Sit and eat," she started before he could speak. Another turn of knobs on the stove before the old lady began reaching high up the cupboards without request for help. "Lunch will start soon. I hope you still have as much appetite as before," she mused. 

"Yes, ma'am." 

The headache was back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember this is my first fic in a while and my English is eh so I'm trying to fix pacing and grammar with each chapter.  
> Thank you for your patience with me tho hhh


	5. Out of Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo's point of view of the first chapter's events :o

It was not long before finding himself at gunpoint that Hanzo ‘woke up’. The Shimada blinked his vision back after some assaulting light and there he found himself by those rocky shores, feeling like he was just pulled out of water. He could almost believe that may be with how he felt, and yet he was standing there, perfectly dry, no feeling of bruises from being battered by the waves. He couldn’t shake the abrupt feeling that something was off. It wasn’t just that he did not recognize the strange place but everything around him just felt _wrong_. 

The first thing he tried to do was remember what happened for it to come to this; some fight or any enemies. He didn't necessarily feel drugged or pained. His body didn't feel sluggish anyway and he could move without issue. He was in his white _kyudo-gi_ he didn't remember putting on. His prosthesis were also still attached. No quiver or bow. Hanzo brought a hand to his temple as he felt more lightheaded than anything. It took longer than he'd like to grasp some clue as to what happened. 

In a slow, inconsistent flow of memories, Hanzo could only describe it as a brief raging storm. He remembered his entire being feeling engulfed in raw energy; cracking, churning, and choking. He couldn’t see anything other than flashes of white and blue between deep, deep, darkness. Deafening rumbles of thunder and growls was reverberating through his bones. His skin was freezing and burning. The air from his lungs stolen. No. It felt like his very soul was being ripped out. 

But before that… What happened before that?

It hurt. Every attempt at trying to dig deeper into the memory seemed to _physically hurt_. 

The storm finished quickly with one final crack of blinding lightning, a crash of waves, and suddenly silence. 

Hanzo eventually gave up at the attempt and decided to take in his surroundings instead. The sound of rushing water was still present but softer, calmer. He could see an ocean in front of him, reflecting yellows and oranges from the sinking sun, colliding with the sand and stone. The sounds of seagulls and ships in the distance filled the air. A cicada can be heard before soon silencing itself as the day was ending. Tall grass decorating the rocky surface swayed harshly from the coastal winds. But something was wrong. 

Hanzo could see the ships’ sails stand strong and blades of grass whip in the wind. A wind that he couldn’t feel. 

He couldn't feel _anything._

Not the warmth from the sunset nor the spray from the sea. It was like watching everything through a window or standing in a holographic terrain. If he really tried he could feel just the slightest pressure. Not enough to be real. He bent down to touch the water, expecting- praying- to feel it warmed from the sun, and realized he had no reflection. Nothing. He didn't event seem to disturb its flow and it did not distort in light as a hologram would. He pulled his hand out and it was dry.

At times when panic started to set in, the spirit guardians would be there in the back of his mind for some sort of guidance or reassurance. But like the wind, he couldn't feel the dragons. 

This was wrong. 

Everything was wrong.

Hanzo stood back up with a curse under his breath. It couldn’t have been a dream. No, there, he would feel the dragon’s presence the strongest. Hanzo tried best to clear his mind, ignore the distractions, but he couldn’t ignore the nothingness in the back of his mind left by the dragons. Where were they? Did they finally abandon him? What has he done to finally lose their trust? Perhaps everything he felt, or couldn't feel, was an effect of their absence. The panic started to rise within him. He could feel his lungs start to constrict, needing air he wasn't sure he actually needed. There were too many questions and no answers as of yet, the continuous discovery that another thing was wrong not helping whatsoever. 

A glint from the corner of his eye caught his attention. Facing opposite to the shores and high up the cliff laid a decrepit but advanced metal structure that melded with the rocky cliff face. Hanzo forced himself to inspect more and scaled the cliff, desperate for answers. He couldn’t feel the rough texture of the rocks, barely even the weight of himself to balance it as he went. It was almost like pulling yourself through water without the resistance. It felt wrong. 

-

Hanzo learned that he could float when he lost his grip. He was more than 10 feet up when uncalled memories had invaded his mind. Too quick and short were the visions, like being struck by lightning. Definitely too little to piece together anything, but enough to throw him off. Hanzo felt his heart in his throat the moment he saw his hand let go, his body dropping barely a foot before it was if something caught him. From there he felt no gravity pull him to his death. _Wrong._ He put his hand back onto the wall to ground his own mind more than his body.

He eventually pulled himself over the edge with little effort and found himself beside the rusting metal walls of a building that housed a large tower- _a communication tower?_ \- and an overgrown road that led between it and several other buildings. Hanzo started walking forward to continue his inspection. Boxes were covered in dust and grime and laid stacked and scattered around. Everything clearly showed a state of abandonment if one didn't look closely. Hanzo's eyes traced over the lines of dirt pushed away by wheels that showed recent use of the road. Some vehicles parked to the side, some for hauling and moving equipment, others possibly just for transportation, had their windows wiped down. There were hints that more boxes were there before he arrived through squares of flattened grass and disturbed dirt. Clearly someone had been here recently. Maybe someone was still here. Wherever _here_ was. 

Hanzo went around the back of the communications tower and paused at the faded paint he could see along the side of it. Through the overgrowth, dust and dirt, and sun glinting off the metal, he could barely make out a circular symbol. He knew that symbol. 

This was an Overwatch Watchpoint. 

The sudden chill from being watched ran down his spine. He kept his body still and slow as he pressed against the metal wall to his left. From there, he could partly see a large, tinted window pane that seemed to take up an entire corner of the room was built into. Hanzo couldn’t stare at it long for the sun caused a glare on the surface, not that he could’ve seen through the dark orange glass anyway. 

The once renown, heroic organization was shut down several years ago if he remembered correctly; agents disbanded and activities outlawed. Hanzo could remember hearing the news over a bar counter, gossip among crowds of people, his interest piqued only at the mention of the organization whom Genji-...

Hanzo shook his head. 

Perhaps someone had taken refuge in the abandoned site or a former agent decided to take a risk and re-utilize the base. Or both. All in all, no one should be here. Yet, he was certain someone had been on the other side of the glass.

It was then that another stream of memories struck Hanzo and forced him off the wall. He backed up the way he came as sounds of metal pangs rang in his ears. More sounds clamoured together. The sound of a busy crowd. Pounding rain. Someone yelling. Something crashing together. The roar of dragons. Then it was gone again. He could almost see instances of the shrine back in Hanamura, the burning incense, Gen-.. 

Hanzo found himself facing the ground, on his knees, and gripping at his clothes. _Something he could feel_. He managed to come dangerously close to the cliff edge, not that it mattered. The sea below continued its blissful pace as a storm began to turn inside him. 

It was coming back, just barely and out of order, but he remembered. That _thing_. He fought against it- him- back in the Shimada castle. Hanzo was on his knees- _defeated?_ \- and it-he rushed at his neck with the _wakizashi_ drawn and... 

Called it- himself- Genji. 

_Genji had come back._

Or so the cyborg claimed to be his fallen brother. Either as a trick to deceive Hanzo as an assassin sent by the clan or truly as his brother back to exact his rightful revenge.

So did Hanzo... die? 

And yet he was still here. He staggered to his feet. He couldn't be- or maybe he could. It made sense and didn’t all at the same time. He wasn’t in a physical body anymore. As a Shimada, he couldn’t question the existence of the supernatural as a living medium for guardian spirits. _Previously living_ , his mind supplied with a bitter laugh. He couldn’t feel much to anything. Things began to sound far away. Nothing felt real. Was he real? He didn’t want to think about it. Physically, he couldn't feel, but mentally? His mind began racing and tripping over itself. Too much. It was too much and it felt too wrong. 

If not for everything happening so fast, so much, the assassin would’ve sensed the presence behind him before having to hear the click of a gun. 

A deep voice drawled. 

"Hands up."

-

It was easier for Hanzo to put together a theory on why he was here once names were given. It took a moment to recognize the other outlaw but soon Hanzo linked the name and face to that of a man in the global most wanted lists. Hanzo would update himself on his own status after fleeing the Shimada clan, checking if they put out any hits, if he attracted more unwanted attention from one of his 'jobs', or if his bounty increased or decreased the longer he stayed under the radar. While checking the list, there was always a constant name near the top. 

_Jesse McCree. $60,000,000. Dead or alive._

Just the price alone was baffling. What with the bounty hunter's rumoured, almost supernatural in skill sharpshooting and previous affiliation with several powerful groups, it made sense. The Shimada clan was too broken and prideful in its current state to create a public hit with a prize even close to that much. They wanted to take matters into their own hands and clearly lacked. 

McCree continued his threats while Hanzo mulled over the information he remembered reading off the pages. It was irritating he could recall such minor details from months or years ago but barely what happened before this very moment. 

Those affiliations, what were they? _Jesse McCree, former... Deadlock. Then Blackwatch. And..._

_Overwatch._

It clicked. If that cyborg's claims were true, if Genji was still alive, and Overwatch was somehow still here, then it only made sense that he still worked for the organization he threw away his life for. He turned his body to look back at the tinted window. 

"Is... Genji here?" Hanzo managed to keep his expression and voice level, hiding the building turmoil. McCree scowled. 

"An' why would I tell his murderer where he is or ain't?"

_He knows._

Hanzo side-eyed the man before he let out a strained sigh. The Overwatch agent's reaction confirmed that Genji did survive. After all these years. Hanzo deserved this suspicion. 

"You are his teammate? In this recall?"

The cowboy kept silent but raised an eyebrow, from uncertainty of Hanzo's intentions or knowledge of Overwatch's presence here he wouldn't know. But he wanted to make sure of one thing. 

Without turning, Hanzo continued, "You would protect him?"

"Yeah I would. I'd probably have m'life on the line protecting the bastard. Hell, it's already happened a couple times." Hanzo had turned attention back to the window but could hear the cynical tone. "Frankly somethin' you just couldn't do."

Hanzo immediately tensed up at those words before slowly returning eye contact with McCree. _How dare he-?!_ With wide eyes, hands and teeth clenched, Hanzo debated with himself. _I deserved this_ , Hanzo reminded himself, and yet he could feel anger rising. This arrogant man was mocking him, challenging even, unaware of how futile his threats were. Looking down on him. Hanzo lunged at him.

**Author's Note:**

> omae wa mou shindeiru...? No, opposite.
> 
> Please comment if you liked it and if there's any errors! I'm super nervous h


End file.
